


Please

by CJS_DEPPendent



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Phil Coulson is a Dork, and Melinda May is done with his shit, he finally says it back, post 5x18, post-THE SCENE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-27 00:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CJS_DEPPendent/pseuds/CJS_DEPPendent
Summary: Bending down to pick up the offending piece of fruit, he turned it in his hand, eyeing it as if it might tell him this was a bad idea. But it didn’t. And at this point, anything would be better than what he was doing. Or not doing.





	Please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Plechka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plechka/gifts).



> Plechka tagged me in a post on tumblr asking for a sneak peak at my current WIP. I didn't have one. So I wrote this. Its angsty and its fluffy, and Phil Coulson is a dork, and hopefully its satisfying while we wait for the writers to let Coulson say what he needs to say.

She was a magnificent sight – nothing new there – but for once, he allowed himself to acknowledge just how magnificent. She moved swiftly, effortlessly, one movement flowing into the next as the punching bag swung from side to side. He had no doubt it would have knocked him out by now, but she was grace itself – furious and coiled ready to explode, but grace none the less.

Daisy almost chuckled at her mentor’s awed expression as she came to stand by him at the entrance to the gym. He looked almost scared, what of, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Yea,” there was amusement in her voice as she held her bag over her shoulder and tilted her head, “she’s pretty pissed about something. Should have seen the thrashing she gave those Hydra goons. This should be fun!” she added, with a smirk, as she entered the gym for a sparring session Phil did not envy.

Walking away before Daisy interrupted May and she noticed him standing there like the idiot he was so very aware he was, Phil hung his head as he walked the familiar corridors. He had screwed up – he had _really_ screwed up – and until his mouth and brain regained the ability to communicate in any coherent manner, he wasn’t sure what he could do to fix things. And he desperately wanted to fix things.

Rounding the corner towards the corridor that housed his bunk, Coulson faintly made out a figure disappearing around the next corner, arms loaded with something. Unfazed, he continued on his way, but stopped when his foot connected with an unexpected obstacle.

 _Really_? Deke was a love-struck idiot about to get his heart broken, but he had guts, Coulson had to give him that.

Bending down to pick up the offending piece of fruit, he turned it in his hand, eyeing it as if it might tell him this was a bad idea. But it didn’t. And at this point, anything would be better than what he was doing. Or not doing.

* * *

He stood – paced really – in front of her door for far longer than he could justify if anyone were to question him, but he had to do this while the adrenaline was still surging and he still had some grasp on the courage he had left behind in that corridor as she walked away from him.

Hearing footsteps approach he froze, heart beating in his ears, and slowly turned towards the sound.

And then Melinda was walking toward him, sweaty, towel around her shoulders, hair up in a ponytail, and he couldn’t help the soft exhale that left his nose, because suddenly he was back to being the communications dork with a crush on the operations’ star cadet.

Except now she loved him.

 _She_  loved  _him_.

He still couldn’t quite wrap his brain around the concept

She saw him standing there as she approached, shoulders set, the daggers in her eyes firmly aimed at him as she clenched her hand around her keys, preparing to walk right past him. But for once, he didn’t budge; didn’t move out of the way, just continued to stand there, his expression an absurd combination of an almost-smile and worried frown. Turning a single lemon over in his left hand, he looked up to meet her eyes, holding it, rather stupidly, out to her.

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I’m tired, soaking and need a shower, Phil,” she sounded exhausted, but her tone very clearly told him her patience had long since expired.

“Deke,” he cut in before she could ask him to move, and she paused looking even more exasperated. “Deke has a crush on Daisy,” he spoke lamely, as if that somehow explained his presence, fruit in hand, at her door.

“Great,” her eyes rolled of their own accord, and she made to move past him again, but was surprised when, again, he didn’t move.

“No,” he shook his head, “it’ll be terrible,” he shrugged with a half-smile down at the Lemon in his hand, “she’ll eat him alive, but at least he’s got balls,” he said, a sad self-deprecating smile taking over his features with a small half-shrug.

May’s non-existent patience was wearing thinner by the minute, and he knew he was walking on very thin ice. He’d seen her take out that punching bag, he knew how short her fuse was at the moment – Melinda never did handle pent up emotion well.

“I mean, at least—“ he stopped and started again, “he’s going to leave her a bunch of lemons.”

May looked back down at the lemon in his hand, then back at him, eyes demanding an explanation.

“Did you know fruit was really hard to come by on the Lighthouse? Or—will be? In the future—” that little spark in his eye that shone whenever he was excited about something was almost there, but she was obviously not going to answer, the only evidence that she was even still listening the one perfectly arched eyebrow as she regarded him. “Anyway, it was. Citrus fruits, really—apparently. Deke, he—“ again, he turned back to the Lemon, then let his hand fall at his side, there was a good chance this would go horribly, “he thinks that’s how you tell someone you like them – leave a lemon on their bunk.”

He didn’t dare look at her, merely gesturing with his empty hand to the door beside him; the door to May’s bunk. “The door was locked,” he finished lamely, hand raising again towards Melinda, as if to offer her the lemon.

May continued to look up at him. To an outsider, her expression remained unchanged, but he knew her – _knew_ her – and he saw how the eyebrow was a little less arched, the fury in her eye a little dimmer, something akin to hope floating across the brown of her eyes.

“Obviously a Lemon is hardly enough, to—“ he looked sadly down at the offending fruit.

Melinda continued to regard him for a moment, “you were going to leave a _lemon_ on my bunk?” He couldn’t quite tell whether what he was hearing in her voice was anger, or the almost broken request that he make himself clear.

“I was,” he confirmed, his eyes finally meeting hers as the confirmation sank in.

They stared at each other for a moment, Phil’s grip tightening on the fruit in his hand as he saw the almost imperceptible changes in her expression, the small shifts in a face he knew so well; for so long.

He only realized he’d been holding his breath when the force of their lips meeting forced it out of him, his head spinning as the lemon fell to the ground. In an instant, his hand was in her hair, cradling her to him, his other at her back, pushing her as close as physics allowed, her own hands on his face and shirt, gripping the material with a force he should not be surprised by.

There was no hesitation, it wasn’t tentative or cautious – they were way past that. They wanted this. They _both_ wanted this. And after everything they’d been through, their kiss was raw, claiming; aching. Years of what ifs, of things left unsaid, moments left unexplored, all poured into that kiss, their embrace, and the colliding of their bodies against each other as his back crashed into her door, her hands at his chest, feeling the scar beneath her fingers.

Finally, their lips parted in a moment of silent awe, their eyes unfocused, their breathing ragged; him completely at her mercy.

“God, Melinda,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his words cracking as he reached a hand up to her face, turning her eyes from his chest to his, “don’t—“ he paused to swallow the lump in his throat; the tears that were threatening to spill at the unguarded love he saw reflected back in her eyes, “please,” he stroked her cheek, “ _please_ don’t think—for a _second_ – that I don’t love you, I—“

It was only when her lips were back on his, her tears slipping from her cheek to his, that he realized he’d said it. Just like that, he’d said it. Whatever else may be true, whatever the future may hold for them, at least she knew.

He loved her.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. If you feel so inclined, please let me know what you thought.
> 
> I'm a big fan of the tongue-tied dork that is Phil Coulson using lemons to tell Melinda May how he feels. It wouldn't fit in the show (and they won't give it to us), so here you go.


End file.
